


Enlisted

by lameafpun



Category: Heroes (TV), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 09:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16784227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: It was always someone else's fight. It paid in grudges more often than not, and it almost never compensated for the fact that they paid for tools.





	Enlisted

The flame on the oven top sparked and sputtered to life, the blue fire springing up excitedly. With a clang, a metal pot full of water fell onto the burner and flames briefly licked up the sides of the pot before settling back into their place under the grate. After a few minutes, the unmistakeable sound of boiling water fills the small kitchen. 

With a sigh that pierces the quiet of the darkened room, a small green and blue box of mac n’ cheese emerges out of the top cupboard over the sink and unseals itself, pouring into the pot. The familiar sound of dry pasta hitting metal made the figure sitting on the wooden kitchen chair relax and slump onto the table. Tired eyes wander around the kitchen, softening slightly at the familiar setting before squinting at the ache in their muscles. Groaning, they stretch their arms overhead while straightening their legs under the table. Hearing a few satisfying pops, they relax again and focus onto the mac n’ cheese box that had been suspended in mid-air, patiently waiting for them. 

With a wave of their hand, the now empty box unfolded and gently set itself next to the garbage can. Another moment later, a large metal spoon floats out of a drawer next to the oven and settles in the pot. It stirs, scraping away the pasta that stuck to the bottom, before resting on the side. 

Keeping an eye on the microwave clock, they wait. The hazy green light is strangely soothing, and every blink takes more effort than the last. 

Faint yells and screams reach her ears, as well as a mysterious crackling and the uncomfortable sensation of invasive warmth. 

She was paralyzed in a sitting position, head cushioned in her arms. Nothing could move - her arms were stuck to the table, her feet welded to the cool tile that was growing hotter and hotter by the second. 

With each shuddering breath, wisps of smoke were sucked into her lungs and she couldn’t keep the thought 'good lord, this is a horrible way to die’ from flitting through her head. Another breath, and the grossly suffocating smoke was choked down. Her nose and throat were burning and it felt like cotton balls were being shoved down her throat with each weakening inhale. 

The sensation of being lifted up was accompanied with confusion, but she didn’t fight it. It was a welcome reprieve from the burning licks of - she assumed - flames that wound around her body. 

She took another breath, and the cotton thinned into threads of oxygen that she gulped down desperately. It burned like the first breath of winter. 

Her eyes were crusted together but in the small slit of vision she had, she could catch a glimpse of a yellow S, surrounded by blurs of blues and reds. 

—————————————————————————

A cool breeze blew through the city, gently announcing the beginning of fall. It carried away a handful of leaves that had withered on their branches, scattering them on the pavement below and some on the heads of passersby. 

A figure had caught one on the fabric of their hat. They batted it off absentmindedly, focusing on their two taller companions. The tallest one had gestured toward the bank across the street, the shake in his hand nearly imperceptible. His other hand hovered over the barely noticeable lump at his hip, which was worrying. 

The shorter one lead the three of them; an officer who had grown too inquisitive, too interested in things he shouldn’t know. 

Boss had been very clear as to who would and who would not be making it out of that bank. 

Pleasantly warm air hit them as they stepped inside the bank. The floors were clean, shiny, and the shortest of the group stared at their reflection while the tallest wandered over to the teller. He ambled along, scratching at his hip, while the other stretched and leaned against the wall by the entrance. 

The tallest finally reached the booth as the shortest among them leaned against the table that had the bowl of customary bank lollipops. They fished through, ignoring the stare from a parent sat in the waiting area. Their child had a blue one, and it was smeared around their mouth. 

“Put the money in the bag!” That was as much a signal as any, and the one leaning against the door pulled down the balaclava that had been disguised as a beanie. His gaze shifted toward the one by the lollipop table; they had pulled their mask down as well and their hands moved fluidly through the air as all furniture in the lobby lifted to the ceiling. The couches were a blur. One of them flew over his head, embedding itself in the stone and effectively sealing the entrance of the bank. They saw him watching and tilted their head toward the tallest one, who was impatiently waiting in front of the teller. 

“Come on. The vault.” His request to the teller was accompanied by the barrel of a gun. 

They all moved to the back of the bank, the teller shaking, as the shortest stayed in the lobby. Beneath the neon yellow balaclava, a scowl marred their face. A chair swept down from the ceiling, settling under them, and they sank into the surprisingly comfortable fabric as quiet prayers for the Justice League swelled. Nothing but whispers, but they beat in their eardrums just the same. 

From the corner of their eye, they saw the other two members of their team enter the lobby, teller nowhere in sight (Boss wasn’t going to be happy about that). The tallest one looked sick, even behind his mask. His hands shook, and the nondescript black briefcase nearly fell from his grip. The other one snatched it from his hands, a snarled “careful” undercut by an edge of fear. 

The one in the neon yellow balaclava brought their hands up to massage their temples and, against their better judgement, closed their eyes. Darkness was a temporary reprieve, and the pulsing in their head fluttered for a moment. 

“Get the HELL BACK DOWN, KID!” 

The click of a gun’s safety being flipped echoed in their head. 

“SHA - “ 

Their eyes snapped open. The world around them was moving a hundred times slower than it should have been. A dark haired boy in a red jacket, who looked to be around ten years old, was hurtling toward the three of them, fiery determination blazing in his crystal blue eyes. His gaze snapped to meet theirs and they couldn’t look away, drawn to the heroic gleam. 

The gun went off. 

———

Billy and his Uncle Dudley had been going to the bank to fix — something. A sort of “financial discrepancy.” Taxes? Usually, Billy thought, when grown-ups had problems it had to have something to do with taxes. He’d asked Uncle Dudley but all the information went in one ear and out the other. Words like ‘tax deductibles,’ ‘adjusted gross income,’ and ‘voluntary compliance’ just weren’t exciting. 

A bank robbery, on the other hand, was very exciting. Not that they were good, but Billy knew how to handle a bank robbery! No paperwork or anything like that, just round up the villains and deposit them at the local police department. All he had to do was say “shazam” and bada-bing bada-boom they would have met their doom. That was, until, one of the villains had made all the furniture in the bank rocket up to the ceiling, leaving Billy with nowhere to transform without risking his secret I.D. He was stuck. If anyone found out about him . . . he wasn’t going to risk Uncle Dudley’s life like that. 

Dudley held Billy close to him, nearly crushing him against his dark brown jacket. It was the fanciest piece of clothing that Dudley had and he saved it specifically for visits to anywhere he deemed important i.e trips to the bank, Billy’s elementary school graduation etc (he’d heard the gunshot that went off in the back, hoping that Billy hadn’t heard it as well, and hoping he didn’t realize that the teller hadn’t come back). 

Billy had noticed that the teller hadn’t returned. He couldn’t let them escape. 

When they started making for the door, he took his chance. He sprung into action and sprinted toward the group, armed with nothing but a word. 

“SHAZ-!” 

And like that, he was running toward a gun. The barrel was shiny and black and leveled at his face. 

A sharp sound cut through the air. A crack that he felt in his teeth. 

Crud. He thought and closed his eyes but his feet wouldn’t stop moving, and he tensed. 

Nothing. . .happened. His eyes cracked open a slit and he went to pat himself down to make sure he was still, actually, alive. Because unless he had somehow unlocked some other extraordinary power there was no way that the bullet that had been fired seconds ago was hanging in the air three inches in front of him. 

Billy was frozen in place as well. His arms were still in the motion of pumping along to propel his feet across the floor. The only thing he could move was his eyes, and he watched as the smallest figure of the group of bank robbers (murderers) slid out from behind the two others. 

They were dressed in the most eclectic outfit Billy had ever seen. Neons and flat, dark colors combined in a look so loud it was cacophonous. 

With a wave of their hand, the bullet that had been making a beeline straight for his forehead clattered to the ground. They considered him for a moment, cocked their head, and nodded. 

Billy fell to the ground, gasping. The neon figure settled an arm on the tallest, and another on the suitcase they had gone through so much trouble to get. It was yanked out of the hands of the shorter thug, who could do nothing but glare as the taller thug and the neon figure rose up and escaped through a window, leaving him immobile and victim to the sirens that were going off just outside the doors.


End file.
